Seriously, I do. And not in the usual it seems like so much fun way. I actually think that being two looks incredibly hard: you can’t communicate very well, still fall down a lot, rarely get to make your own decisions, are prone to wetting yourself at times, etc., etc. So maybe I don’t wish I were two, except for in one way:
Two-year-olds are incredibly adaptable. Maybe not when it comes to everyday things; Bee is still prone to freaking out if one of us moves her dinner plate a single millimeter from its original position. Oh, she can throw a tantrum with the best of them if things aren’t just so, but when it comes to the big things she simply amazes me. Move the juice cup and there are tears, but spend a few days going back and forth between doctor’s offices and hospitals and she doesn’t bat an eye. In fact she totally incorporates it into her worldview.
You see that wee tower on the left? That’s the hospital; the one on the right is our house. She built her first hospital yesterday, and now all towers topped with a blue half-circle are hospitals. Not that she had a good time on her hospital trips; they just quickly became an ordinary part of the world. (I’m still hoping moved plates become ordinary someday soon.)
Me? Oh, I’m still adjusting to the fact that I finished grad school (nine years ago), and I don’t know if I will ever get used to having HKPP. I don’t mind running out of soy milk, but anything much bigger than that and I quickly end up in a tizzy. The reality of being a fabric designer now is still rather confusing; I am totally happy about it, but it may take a couple more years for my worldview to catch up with reality.
Hence the occasional wishing I were two.
Maybe I just need to build more block towers.
Note: Bee is doing just fine now. Rest and a nebulizer have her breathing well and back to her usual self. Thanks for all the good wishes, Twitterland.